


i've got an elastic heart

by naimeria



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, ft. Dick's stolen clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reminder that Damian is hale and whole soothes his haywire nerves even in the worst circumstance, and he wants Damian to know that he has as solid a foothold in Dick as he can give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got an elastic heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theLiterator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/gifts).
  * Inspired by [this tumblr post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/95168) by katemonsterx3. 



> For my Lit, who's feelings have seeped into my pores and make me want to squeeze these two and never let go.

Dick wakes to the sound of silence, such an irregular occurrence that it jars him into rising at a breath. Awareness comes with alertness, and he’s down the hall before he realizes where he’s really going, feet bare and quiet pitter-patters on the aged wood floor. It feels weird, being back, for however a short time it’ll be, and something loosens in his chest that makes breathing a little bit easier.

Dick wants to find Damian first, of course, because things are still new, on rocky ground, and Dick is selfish. A reminder that Damian is hale and whole soothes his haywire nerves even in the worst circumstance, and he wants Damian to know that he has as solid a foothold in Dick as he can give. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be staying at the manor, or how long even Damian will be staying, but he can give him this small manner of comfort while he can, whether or not Damian will fight him on it.

He jumps over the recently patched hole in the floorboards, thumbs the filled-in drywall where three different hits had caved under so much pressure. Things are new, Dick thinks, but if anyone can handle it and excel, it’ll be Damian, if nothing more than because it’s what he was trained for. (It’s not the whole truth, Dick’s believed this whole time – he was taught, yes, but Damian is, at his core, a good kid, and he will get through this because of _that,_ first and foremost.)

The door is cracked, and Dick peeks around the frame, wondering if Titus will alert Damian to his presence before he can do it himself. The dog perks up from the foot of the bed, but makes no noise, and Dick smiles at him as he puts his head back down, acknowledging the lack of threat. They’re all protective of Damian, none too afraid to show it.

Looking to Damian’s peaceful face, unmarred by bad dreams or sudden outbursts of powers he still has almost no control over, Dick feels his skin start to settle. Remembers doing this with Tim most of all, checking in on him in the aftermath of the worst of days, making sure his brow stayed unwrinkled, breathing even. Bad dreams run in the family, after all.

Damian is never loose-limbed when he sleeps, an antithesis to Dick’s own sleep pattern. Tonight is no exception; limbs tight against his core, cheek buried in the soft down of the pillow. The knowledge that Damian would have easily woken should he have sensed danger is not lost on Dick, and he wants to run his fingers through Damian’s hair, feeling bruised and raw all over, has never been more grateful for anything in his life.

There are wrinkles and creases in it, but the shirt Damian is wearing catches his eye anyway, the navy a familiar pigment. Something hot and thick lodges in his throat immediately, unrelenting and intimate. It’s his shirt, testament to his good old days of police work, where the backdrop wasn’t crime alley and gargoyles and Wayne, but spotlights and hard angles and nary a bat in sight. The BPD logo is worn and the edges of the shirt frayed, but it was one of the only things he’d kept after coming home, the uniform and badge all returned exactly the way they’d come.

He’s in the room before he knows he’s moved, back against the wall and butt hitting the floor with the quietest of sounds. The rushing in his ears is back, the reality of what he almost – what he _did_ lose _,_ don’t lie to yourself, Grayson – hitting him all over again. A pressing urge for preservation, to never let Damian leave, feels like an indomitable weight on his shoulders, wants to press his hands everywhere to keep him here, home, safe. He knows he can’t, knows he’s good at pushing Damian away, but also knows they make each other feel so much less empty. It’s what Damian needs, what he deserves, and what Bruce will never fully give, because he’s been there, too.

True freedom, he thinks, is a lie. Jason taught him that better than any.

Hands itching to touch, to reassure, his eyes stay locked on the shirt for what feels like hours, comforted and tortured by what is, and what’s inevitably to come. They’ll be split apart again, and it’ll be torture, but he’ll hang onto this, always remember this feeling of being wanted, being needed.

Breathing through his nose and making sure the moisture at the corners of his eyes stays there, he watches the rise and fall of Damian’s chest, so full of love he thinks, one day, he’ll break from it. 


End file.
